Christmas Wrapping
by rainwater tears
Summary: Life was a funny, funny thing. Just when you stopped believing in destiny it devoted an entire day to convincing you that someone had put you down for torture in Fate's appointment book.


Title: _Christmas Wrapping  
_  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Christmas fluff in June. "Life was a funny, funny thing. Just when you stopped believing in destiny it devoted an entire day to convincing you that someone (most likely the god of bad hair days, because he was definitely the most vicious of them all) had put you down for torture in Fate's appointment book." Canned cranberry sauce saves the day. Very, very, very, very (very) loosely based on "Christmas Wrapping" by the Waitresses.  
  
Disclaimer: If I owned "One Tree Hill" it wouldn't be on the air. If I owned "Gilmore Girls" it would be on 24/7. As neither have happened I think you can answer your own question.  
  
Author's Note: This ficlet is dedicated to everyone on the lit thread at S-H.org, but especially to **Mai** for the "Hallelujah" WP (and subsequent fic), **Ali** for the TV scene in "Come Away With Me," and **Dani**, because I figure if I flatter her enough she'll make a new vid.

* * *

"Make time for family."  
  
"From our table to yours."  
  
"Nothing says family like--"  
  
She flipped off the TV and buried the remote in the crevice between the couch cushions. Just because she felt guilty about missing Christmas didn't mean her TV had to remind her. It just wasn't fair.  
  
The supermarket had been out of canned cranberry sauce when she went the night before, and that was just step one on the ladder of depression she had been climbing for the last 24 hours.  
  
She hadn't talked to her mother in months (the message that she wouldn't be coming to dinner had been left on the answering machine at 2 in the afternoon to ensure minimal contact), her best friend (and only hope for company on the holiday) was flying out to spend Christmas with her boyfriend in California, and she herself hadn't had a date in months.  
  
It wasn't like she hadn't tried. For awhile she had been dating crazy, going out almost every night with guy after guy after guy, but it hadn't gotten her anywhere. After all, she was twenty-eight and sitting alone in the living room of her tiny apartment trying her best to pretend that her TV was not giving her good advice.  
  
Wandering towards the kitchenette she kicked the corner of the carpet into place, adjusted the stack of magazines (Time, Newsweek, and Cosmo) on the side table, and pushed a book back into place on the shelf. Passing her desk she considered working on her (going nowhere) novel, but knew that that would be the final straw. She sighed as she opened the refridgerator and poured herself a glass of eggnog.  
  
She had always been surprised by the taste of eggnog. She knew she liked it, but in the millisecond before the first sip of a new glass she always considered pouring it down the drain, and then, as the cold thick liquid slid down her throat she was happy that she hadn't.  
  
This glass, however, was not a pleasant surprise. Instead of the sweet, cold taste of eggnog she received the sickening, sour taste of expired milk. Spitting it into the sink she began to cry There was no way this holiday could get any worse.

* * *

The supermarket was the quietest she had ever seen it. The only sounds were the buzz of the flourescent lights and the tired Christmas Carols playing over the weak sound system. As she walked through the front door she swore she would scream if she heard "Grandma Got Runover by a Reindeer" one more time.  
  
The fading green and red tinsel drooped from the corners of the shelves, and the aisle of canned goods was, for the most part, barren. Where there should have been canned beans, soups and veggies there was only empty space. The only section that seemed stocked was the cranberry sauce.  
  
"Hallelujah!" She smiled and reached for a can, but accidentally knocked one off the shelf. "Of course. The universe hates me, right?" she muttered to herself as she knelt to pick it up.  
  
"I sincerely doubt that the universe hates you. Maybe some of the smaller galaxies, but..."  
  
She looked up to find a guy abou ther age standing over her. She tucked her hair (now waist length) behind her ear and stood up. "Well, then I got stuck with the really cruel ones."  
  
He smiled and she immediately fell in love with the way his lower lip didn't quite work with the rest of his mouth. There was something comforting and familiar about it. "Last minute shopping?" he asked, gesturing to the can in her hand.  
  
"My only bit of happiness on this miserable Christmas. You?"  
  
"Ditto." His voice had a 'whada y'know' quality about it. "I'm Jess."  
  
"Rory," she said, quietly thinking about the Jess she used to know. The one who had left her ten years before. They'd broken each other's hearts. "Funny," she thought, "his lip did the same thing. He talked like that, too."  
  
"Huh."  
  
She jumped, there was no way.  
  
"Gilmore."  
  
"Mariano."  
  
"Oh, and the bitterness starts."  
  
She glared at him. "Leave me alone." She turned to walk towards the counter. He followed her.  
  
"And here I thought we were being so friendly."  
  
She had reached the counter where a scrawny 15 year old with acne and a Jewfro rang up her cranberry sauce.  
  
"$1. 49."  
  
Before she could even pull the wallet from her purse Jess was paying the boy and ushering her out the door.  
  
"Are you deaf? I said leave me alone!"  
  
"But where's the fun in that?"  
  
His appearance hadn't changed much since when she last saw him, and she wondered why it had taken her so long to recognize him. Especially when he'd been such a major part of her life for almost two years. "What are you doing here?" If she was going to be forced to deal with him she might as well find out why. "I thought you were off in California or something."  
  
"I've been back in New York for five years. I thought you would be at Luke and Lorelai's big holiday event tonight."  
  
"No." She froze up then. They'd been walking down the street towards her building and acting fairly civil, she did not want to broach the topic of her mother, though.  
  
The truth was, she hadn't been best friends with her mother since she was 19. Everything had fallen to pieces when she'd run away to Europe for the summer after losing her virginity to the very married Dean. The deepest conversation they had had since that summer was about whether Rory should take a summer internship at _the New York Times_ or_ the Washington Post_. They'd made a pro/con list over the phone, decided on _the Times_ and hung up. Neither had slept that night.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
He was a lot more talkative than she'd remembered him, but then again, he had always liked prying into her personal life, that is, until he'd become a part of it. Then he had run as far away as possible.  
  
"I just didn't."  
  
"You said earlier that you were having a miserable Christmas."  
  
She shrugged.  
  
"I could make it better."  
  
They reached the front door of her building and she turned to face him. "How? How are you going to make my Christmas better? Can you turn back time? Can you make me nineteen again? Can you stop me from doing stupid things and ruining my own life? Because that's pretty much the only thing that would make any difference at this point. Okay?"  
  
She'd expected him to jump back. She was on the verge of tears, and Jess had never been big on the emotional side of things. Instead he stayed where he was, standing right in front of her and staring into her eyes.  
  
"I can't turn back time, God knows if I could I would fix a lot of things that happened before we were nineteen, but that doesn't mean I can't make a difference."  
  
She wiped a lone tear streaking down her cheek. She hadn't noticed how cold it was outside until she felt its heat. "Why aren't you at Christmas dinner? Didn't Luke invite you?"  
  
He sighed. "Well, to be honest, I figured you would be there."  
  
She nodded. Life was a funny, funny thing. Just when you stopped believing in destiny it devoted an entire day to convincing you that someone (most likely the god of bad hair days, because he was definitely the most vicious of them all) had put you down for torture in Fate's appointment book. "How are you going to make a difference?" The evil gods wanted to take a shot at her, fine, but she wasn't promising not to fight back.  
  
"You wanna go to my apartment and...read?"  
  
She laughed and brushed a tear from her cheek. "Didn't exactly think that one out, did you?"  
  
"Not in particlular, no."  
  
"How far away is your apartment?"  
  
"Ten blocks, give or take."  
  
She turned to the door of her own building and took out her key. "Come on," she said.  
  
"Where are we going?" He had to run to catch up with her, as she was already inside and halfway to the elevator.  
  
"Would you rather walk ten blocks in the freezing cold or have a nice warm elevator ride up ten stories?"  
  
"Is this your building?"  
  
"No, I just like breaking and entering. Yes, this is my building."  
  
The elevator ride was silent. Jess stood close, not so much that he invaded her personal space, but enough that she knew he was there. She was still brushing away tears as they arrived on the tenth floor.  
  
The first thing he noticed about her apartment was how tidy it was. The books were all on the bookshelf (organized by author and then publication date, he noticed), the CDs neatly arranged on a rack beside the stereo, the magazines were stacked on the coffee table, and the DVDs filled the shelf below the TV. The only thing out of place was a half-empty cup of eggnog on the kitchen counter. Even from where he stood at the door Jess could tell that it had gone bad. How long had it been sitting there?  
  
She led him into the room. There wasn't a lot of space, and what little space there was was crowded with a sofa, a bookcase, an entertainment unit, a couple mismatched tables, and a desk. The bookcase was practically groaning under the weight of centuries of fine literature, and Jess stopped to run his hands along the spines.  
  
A few of the paperback books jumped out at him. They were gathered to the side, away from where they should have been placed if Rory had stuck with her filing system. A copy of Howl, one of The Sun Also Rises, and a well-worn Nine Stories, as well as several others that he remembered "borrowing" from her during various stages of their relationship. Pulling Nine Stories off the shelf brought a wave of dust hurtling at his nose, causing him to sneeze, and he realised how rarely these books had been touched. He flipped through it, noting his careful scribbles up and down nearly every margin.  
  
Rory was in the kitchen searching for a bottle of wine when she heard Jess sneeze. The counter opened to the living room, and she glanced over to where he stood by the bookcase. "Bless you."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
She finally found a bottle of white wine, and poured two glasses. Jess had moved from the bookcase to the couch, and was sitting down with a book when she joined him. She couldn't see the cover, but it was a paperback. Jess had always preferred paperbacks, while she had loved the feeling of a hardback book. It always struck her as important. If you got hit in the head with a hardback book the pain would last. Two days later there would still be a dull ache when you rested your head on it. A paperback book would sting at first, but it wouldn't last.  
  
Rory grabbed her own book and sat down beside him.  
  
The hardback/paperback analogy fit their personalities well, she thought. Jess was sharp. When he left it stung. He had been the brief, painful relationship of her teen years, and he left behind the memory of immediate hurt, but it hadn't continued to throb within her. She, however, was stable, lasting, and she knew that he had pined for her for a great deal of time since he first left (ironic, as their breakup was his own fault, as far as she was concerned). Then again, sometimes she wondered whether she hadn't pined for him because she hadn't needed to, or because she hadn't let herself. This thought process only served to remind her of all the things that she felt she had to say.  
  
"Jess."  
  
He grunted in acknowledgment, completely absorbed in his book.  
  
"Jess, we need to talk."  
  
He lifted his head and looked at her. She looked seventeen again.  
  
Her hair fell across her back and shoulders, long and still the light brown he had always loved. Her eyes were staring right into his, blue as ever, and glistening with the remnants of her tears from earlier. Seeing her like this was almost painful.  
  
"'bout what?"  
  
"About everything."  
  
"Well, that's kind of a broad topic, Rory. I don't know if we could fit it into just Christmas Eve. You may need to call my secretary and make an appointment."  
  
She slapped him in the arm with her book. "We need to talk about everything that happened between us ten years ago."  
  
He turned to face her head on, but didn't say anything, just looked at her. After what seemed like an eternity of silence he said, "no, we don't."  
  
"Yes, we do. I need to apologize, because otherwise I'll never feel completely right about myself again, and if I don't feel right about myself then I can't face you." As if to prove her point she lowered her head.  
  
He reached out and lifted her chin. "Rory, I think we're pretty much even when it comes to inflicting emotional pain. All is forgotten."  
  
"Just like that?"  
  
"No, it took about seven years, but, yeah, I'm okay with it if you're okay with it. Either way I'm sitting next to you right now, aren't I?"  
  
She nodded and opened her book. He glanced over at her a minute later and she was smiling.

* * *

"I'm hungry." Rory and Jess had been sitting and reading for almost an hour when Rory's stomach decided to mutiny.  
  
"Well, then eat something."  
  
"All I have is cranberry sauce."  
  
He looked up and she gave him an innocent grin. "All you have is cranberry sauce?"  
  
She nodded. "Well, I was having a bad Christmas, and I didn't think to buy anything else, because, well, cranberry sauce is the thing I usually think of when I think Christmas, and it's the thing I'm always put in charge of bringing to Christmas dinner, but I wasn't thinking about the fact that I wasn't going to Christmas dinner when I did the shopping, and I thought I had eggnog, but it turned out that had gone bad so--" Jess slapped a hand over her mouth.  
  
"Do you want to order a pizza?"  
  
She shook her head, no. "I always have pizza."  
  
"Chinese?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Thai? Japanese?"  
  
"I wanna go out."  
  
"Where? It's Christmas Eve."  
  
She shrugged.  
  
Jess sighed. "Alright, grab your coat." He got up and returned the book to the bookshelf.  
  
She followed him. "Where are we going?"  
  
"Have you ever had home made pasta?"  
  
Rory snorted. "Are you kidding? I was raised by Lorelai Gilmore. They put her in a remedial home-ec class in high school, even though she could sew. One time, when I was five, she set the dishwasher on fire trying to bake a cake. She can only tell salt from sugar because she accidentally put salt in her coffee once."  
  
Jess laughed. "Sounds interesting."  
  
"I had to sleep in the living room for a week because she refused to go near the kitchen, and, therefore, my bedroom."  
  
"Better safe than sorry."  
  
"That was her claim." They had reached the front door of the building. Rory tugged on her coat and they headed outside. "So, you didn't answer my question, where are we going?"  
  
"Well, my grandmother lives five blocks away, and she makes the best pasta in the world."  
  
"You have a grandmother?"  
  
"No, my father just popped out of thin air and into existance."  
  
He said it with such a straight face that she had to pause for a second.  
  
"I have a grandmother."  
  
"And you know her? I hardly know my father's parents because...well...I hardly know my father."  
  
"I got to know her when I moved back to the city. My mom and I both did....Anyway, she never turns down hungry people, and she's heard so much about you and Lorelai from Mom--"  
  
"I've never met your mother."  
  
"No, but she's met your mother. Multiple times, in fact. I think my mother must worship her or something."  
  
"She fixed your mom's wedding dress."  
  
"That she did."  
  
"Anyway, my grandmother would love to meet you."  
  
The rest of the walk was silent and cold. At one point Jess reached out for Rory's hand to keep it warm and she reveled in how much he had changed since high school. She reached up and ruffled his hair (which, she was happy to see, was crazy and gelled like it had been when they'd dated, rather than long and straight like the last time she saw him). He let go of her hand and grabbed a glove-full of snow from the top of a mailbox nearby.  
  
"You'll pay for that one, Gilmore."  
  
The snowball came flying towards her before she had a chance to react. It hit her in the arm and she started laughing. She grabbed her own handful of snow, and before long they were in a full fledged snowball fight on an empty street in New York City.

* * *

When they finally arrived at Jess's grandmother's apartment it was nearly eight thirty. They were both completely covered in snow and shivering, but they were laughing.  
  
"Jess, why are you all wet?"  
  
The woman at the door was probably about 75, with gray hair in a ponytail and flour from her nose to the waist of her apron.  
  
"Jess!"  
  
The woman running up behind her was in her late forties. She had salt and pepper hair. Rory recognized her from pictures her mom and Luke kept around the house. This was the infamous Liz Danes, Jess's mother and Luke's sister.  
  
"Hey Grandma, Mom, this is Rory," Jess said gesturing to Rory. She was still trying to catch her breath, and shivering from the snow which was melting down her back, but she managed a smile and a wave.  
  
"Rory Gilmore?" asked Liz.  
  
Rory nodded.  
  
"Welcome. Come on in. We were about to eat."  
  
As soon as they were in the door a little girl (Rory guessed she was 3 or 4) came hurtling towards them. "Jess! Jess! Jess!"  
  
"Hey, Christie," Jess said as he bent to give her a hug.  
  
"Guess what?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Tomorrow's Chwistmas. Chwistmas, like Chwistie!"  
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
"And I get pwesents!"  
  
"Yes, you do."  
  
"I like pwesents." Without taking a breath she continued. "Who's that?" She pointed at Rory.  
  
"I'm Jess's friend, Rory. Who are you?"  
  
"I'm Jess's Sister, Chwistie."  
  
Christie had led them into a small living room. There was a bookcase against one wall and a number of pictures filled another. The couch was old and worn, but it was clearly comfortable, and it served its purpose.  
  
"Why are you two all wet?" the older woman (Rory assumed that this was Jess's grandmother) asked again.  
  
"Snowball fight," shivered Rory.  
  
"I'll get you some dry clothes," said Liz, and a second later she was handing Rory a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt that said 'Idaho, no, udaho,' and a zip-up sweatshirt that she'd grabbed from a room down the hall. "There's a bathroom around the corner where you can change."  
  
"Thank you," Rory said, and hurried off.  
  
When she got back a minute later Jess was still talking to the little girl, Liz was channel surfing, and Jess's grandmother was cooking. Rory went into the kitchen.  
  
"Can I help?"  
  
"No."  
  
Rory frowned. Had she done something?  
  
"I've heard stories about your mother's kitchen adventures."  
  
"Oh." Rory laughed.  
  
"You can sit down at the counter and tell me about yourself, though."  
  
Rory smiled and sat down. "What do you want to know?"

* * *

When Rory and Jess left the apartment they were drier, fuller, and slightly tipsy from a bottle of champagne Jess's grandmother (who, Rory had learned, was named Lena) had broken out after dinner.  
  
"You know what?" asked Rory as they ambled down the street towards her apartment.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Soup." She started laughing.  
  
"Soup what?"  
  
"Soup." She laughed again.  
  
Before long they were both laughing, and when they finally tumbled into the front hall of Rory's building neither could speak due to lack of oxygen. After they'd caught their breath Jess smiled. "I guess I should get home."  
  
She nodded solemnly.  
  
"Maybe I'll see you around."  
  
She thought he sounded hopeful, but she couldn't be sure, so she just nodded again.  
  
"Alright....Well, Merry Christmas."  
  
"Merry Christmas," she murmured.  
  
As he turned towards the door she was hit by a memory of the last time she saw him, walking away from her in her Freshman dorm. She didn't want it to be another ten years before she saw him again.  
  
"Jess, wait!" She ran after him. He turned at the door to the building, but before he could respond she was kissing him.  
  
It had been so long since she had really kissed someone, not just a peck on the lips or the cheek but a real, meaningful kiss, probably not since she was twenty or twenty-one, and as she kissed Jess she felt like she was coming back, returning to a person she had not been for a very long time.  
  
At first he had been a bit shocked by the kiss, but as he realized what was happening he started to respond to it, relaxing into it. Ten years away from Rory had been good for him, but now, standing between the cold of the outdoors and the warmth of the lobby, Rory felt like the only real thing left. He pulled her closer to him, wrapped his arms around her, and forgot everything else existed.

* * *

When Rory woke up the next morning she was buried beneath a comforter, an afghan, and an arm. Closer inspection showed it to be Jess's arm, and she wondered what it was doing there. The night before was somewhat hazy, but what she remembered consisted mainly of cranberry sauce, snow, and Idaho. Slowly she began to remember more of the night. Running into Jess, meeting Liz, Christie, and Lena, the snowball fight, the champagne, the kiss, everything that had happened _after_ the kiss. The arm shifted across her stomach and she turned to face Jess.  
  
"Morning."  
  
He squinted at the sun coming in the window. "Merry Christmas." He pulled her a little closer and she pressed her face up against his chest.  
  
"You smell good."  
  
"Funny, I haven't had a shower in about twenty-four hours."  
  
She scrunched up her nose and pushed him away. "Well, then go take one, mister!"  
  
He laughed. "Because you've taken one more recently than I have."  
  
"Yes, I have. I took one before I went out last night. Now go. I'll make coffee. That's something I can actually accomplish in a kitchen. The bathroom's through there." She pointed to a door next to her closet.  
  
When he rejoined her in the kitchen she was wearing an extremely fuzzy bathrobe and a big smile. "Don't you look happy."  
  
She grinned some more. "It's Christmas."  
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
"I called my mom."  
  
At some point the night before (after the kiss and before the things that happened _after_ the kiss) she had told him everything. She had told him about Dean, about Lorelai, about every moment between spring 2003 and winter 2012. He'd taken it all in, accepted it, told her that if he could make up with his mother than she could make up with hers, and then he had kissed her again.  
  
"I assume that went well."  
  
She nodded. "That went really well."  
  
"I'm glad." He stepped up to her and wrapped his arms around her. Since she'd kissed him the night before he had hardly been able to let go of her. He needed to know that she was real, that she was there. As they had headed out the door his grandmother had whispered in his ear that Rory was "something special" and he had nodded in agreement. Now all he could do was prove to Rory that he wasn't eighteen, he wasn't going to run, and he wasn't afraid of her. "So, what do we do now?"  
  
"She wants us to come to Stars Hollow."  
  
"Right now?"  
  
Rory nodded.  
  
"Do you want to go?"  
  
Rory nodded.  
  
"Okay."  
  
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. He could taste the coffee she had been drinking, and he could smell the strawberry of her shampoo.  
  
Nothing had ever felt more like home.

* * *

Alright, so it took me forever, but it's done. It's over 4000 words (eight pages) long. Aren't you all so proud? When I started it we didn't think Dani would ever make another vid, and now she has, but that doesn't mean she doesn't still get her dedication. And I'd like to extend the dedication to **Christie**, for helping me when I got it twisted, **Lee**, for Sofia, who kinda inspired Lena, and to **Lydia**, who turned into a fic tease herself when I wouldn't finish writing this story. 


End file.
